


brave

by mrspotatohead



Category: Eyewitness (US TV), Eyewitness (US TV) RPF
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Blood, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Comfort, Crying, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family, Heroin, Illegal Activities, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, OTP Feels, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Past Drug Addiction, Rain, Sad, Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Storms, Teenagers, im so sad idk why i wrote this my poor child philip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:10:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspotatohead/pseuds/mrspotatohead
Summary: philip finds his mom while she's relapsing, and turns to lukas afterwards because he doesn't know what else to do.  trigger warning for drug use and kind of self harm, too!! don't read if you're at risk of those please thank u!!





	

I couldn't stop the feeling of nervous, jittery excitement in my stomach as I knocked on the familiar front door of her apartment.

I hadn't seen my mom for three whole weeks, and the feeling of loneliness had been expanding somewhere deep inside of me ever since. When I first moved in with Helen and Gabe, I used to sneak into the city to see her all of the time - until she put a stop to it, saying it wasn't safe. But I decided on taking a chance, because I just wanted to see her one last time before our official visit. I wanted to brighten her dreary, dull Monday morning. I wanted to see her face light up in that soft, fond smile I'd seen so many times before. Maybe we could go see a movie or binge watch a show together. Maybe we could order pizza, our favorite was always pepperoni - just like old times.

I waited, and waited, and waited some more for the door to swing open. The heavy, grey sky started to spit with an unenthusiastic kind of rain, and I felt my stomach grow leaden with what felt like sudden dread. _She's asleep, or maybe out grocery shopping,_ I reasoned in my head, praying and hoping and wishing with every fiber in me that it was true.

After exactly ten minutes, I'd had enough, so I bent down and started picking the lock. I'd learned how to do it when I was twelve, and in fact my mom was the one who had taught me how to. She'd said it would 'get me out of some awkward situations.' And she'd been right, it had.

When I heard the clicking sound which told me I'd been successful, I took a deep breath and pushed open the door, my heart starting to hammer uncontrollably in my rib cage. I didn't know what I was expecting, but when I got inside the living room of the apartment was empty and eerily still. Magazines were scattered across the coffee table, the TV was on but the volume was turned down low. The clock ticked on monotonously in the corner. To anyone else, it would've been a normal and mundane scene to observe.

But I knew better. I knew that the misplaced feeling deep in my bones meant something else. Something bad.

I approached her bedroom, noting that the door to it was ajar and light was spilling out from the small crack, golden and inviting. I closed my eyes for a second, willing myself to calm down. It was okay. She'd been to rehab, and it had finally worked. She'd recovered and she was probably just asleep, tired from staying up too late watching TV. That was exactly like something she would do, especially now that she was living alone.

I poked my head through the gap in the door, my eyes swiveling around the room - paranoid and observant. I saw a formless lump under the covers, and I was just about to breathe a much needed sigh of relief when I spotted the needle on the bedside cabinet, and the wrap, and the spoon. My heart constricted in my rib cage, like someone was actively trying to squeeze the life out of it. Black spots blinded my vision, and my mouth had grown suddenly dry, like I was eating sandpaper. The worst thing, though, was the large, venomous void in the pit of my stomach making itself known to me once again. It had been there as long as I could remember, but sometimes it felt utterly infinite and permanent, like a black hole in my own body.

I rushed over to her on shaky legs, gently turning her over so she lay on her back. It was then that I realized that she wasn't even asleep, just completely strung out. Her eyes were half open and distant, and her skin was papery and pale. I could even see the delicate veins under her eyes, the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the way her lips were bitten and peeling and dry. Her cheekbones jutted out alarmingly. She was so thin, so fucking fragile.

"Mom," I gasped out, expecting myself to cry but not quite managing it.

She didn't say anything in response, didn't even give an indication that she'd heard me. She probably hadn't. She wasn't there, not really. Everything I loved about her wasn't there - the twinkle in her eyes, the calming lilt of her voice, the way she stroked her hands through my hair when we talked. It was like I was still outside, knocking on an empty apartment.  She was a planet devoid of human life. At lease she would be, until the high wore off.

I sighed down at her, trying to feel angry or betrayed or disgusted. But I couldn't. I studied her, and I realized. I realized that she was only a person. It might seem obvious, but as a kid I always kind of saw her as this invincible being. Every time she spaced out and got too high, she always came back to me. Every time she worried over money or bills or finding jobs, she made things work. She made ends meet. I thought nothing could stop her, I thought she was Superwoman.

She wasn't. She was just a girl. It made me love her even more, but it also made me want to collapse into tears.

"Mom, it's me. It's Philip. Are you okay?" I whispered, leaning closer to her, getting down onto my knees so I could kneel next to her bed. The pupils in her eyes drifted towards me slowly, still blown and far away. I pressed my hand to her forehead, noticing she was extra warm. A jolt of worry rushed through me, but I pushed it away, knowing she would be alright in the end. She hadn't taken that much, because she wasn't completely passed out. I just had to keep reminding myself of that, I had to be logical. 

"Phil," She rasped, her voice weak and slurred. I gave her a forced, lop sided smile and ran my hands through her wild, brown locks, trying to determine what to do.

"Let's get these blankets off you, you're too hot," I said gently, pulling back the covers so the cool air could soothe her and cool her down. She didn't move, but she nodded her head a little, and I breathed out slowly, numbly. I cracked open the window across the room and sprayed some air freshener, keeping an eye on her as I did so. She just kept lying there, her gaze dark and still, her breathing slightly labored and shallow. She looked like a baby bird. She looked helpless.

"I'll go get you some water, and you can just drink it when - when you feel up to it," I explained, inwardly cursing myself for stuttering. I didn't want her to think that she was freaking me out, even though she was. I didn't want her to know that seeing her in this state was what gave me nightmares as a child.

I let the cold tap run for a long time, even when the glass was full. I looked at the water, listened to the way it hit the bottom of the sink with a dull thud. This was okay. It was just a setback. All that mattered was that she would be okay, she had to be.

"Here you go, Mom," I muttered as I set the drink down on her bedside table, next to her needle. She watched as I sat back down next to her, taking her sweaty hand in mine. I stroked my thumb over her sharp, prominent knuckles, staring at the brush of faint freckles which littered them lightly. I felt a sudden, burst of love for her and everything she'd ever done for me. She was the only person in the world that had never given up on me. 

"Home, Phil," She mumbled suddenly, and when I looked at her I knew what she meant. She wanted me to leave. I frowned, swallowing harshly. I couldn't look her in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time, it hurt too much. It made me feel like someone had turned her body into a graveyard. She looked so haunted, she looked like a ghost.

"I can't leave you," I explained simply, choosing my words carefully. I didn't want to upset her, though I didn't know if she was even capable of being sad when she was this fucking high. She squeezed my hand tighter, willing me to make eye contact with her again. When I did, I noticed there was something different about her gaze. It was still sleepy and unfocused, but there was a consciousness to it that hadn't been there before.

"Go home now, Phil," She all but demanded, quivering with the effort it took to speak. I waited, because I could see she wasn't done yet. Her mouth kept opening, as if to say something, but she couldn't get the words out properly. She just kept sighing and stammering, clearly frustrated.

"Take your time, Mom, it's okay," I soothed, smiling to reassure her. She licked her dried out lips slowly, her eyes slipping closed every now and then. She'd probably sleep off the rest of her high soon, I could tell it was getting to that stage. I used to love watching her sleep, because it was the only time I ever saw her completely relaxed, not plagued by the usual worries. It was the only time she was ever really free.

"Please, just, - Phil, if they find out you were here," She warned, her tone seeping with concern. I considered that for a moment, knowing she had a point. I'd never be allowed to see her again, and she'd definitely never go back to rehab if that was the case. She had done it all for me, so we could get our life together back. It just hadn't really worked out too well, that was all. She could try again.

"I know, I know," I agreed, "but I can't just leave you like this, I can't."

"I'll be okay, baby, I'll go to sleep," She insisted, eyes closing tiredly again. I stared at her for a moment, chewing my bottom lip as I deliberated. Helen and Gabe were bound to realize I was gone at any minute. If we were caught like this, it would be game over forever. Neither one of us could handle that.

I got to my feet, my hand reluctantly slipping out of hers.

"I'm going to leave you a note, telling you to call me when you can, just to let me know you're okay, alright?" I asked, scribbling down the details on the notebook she always kept by her bed. I left my number in case her mobile was dead and she had to use the house phone. 

She nodded in response, but I knew she was mere minutes away from drifting off.

I searched her room for anything else, coke or speed, but I didn't find anything. I let a little relief flood into me, lifting me up. That was something, at least. I picked up her needle and all of the other shit, knowing I had to dispose of it before she woke up again, before she needed her next fix. It wouldn't stop her getting it, of course, but I couldn't just leave them there. I didn't want drug paraphernalia to be the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes. I didn't want that to be her life.

Before I left her room, I looked back at her, huddled into her bed, her knees pulled into her chest as if she was trying to hug herself. She looked so young, so alone. I hated myself more and more each second for leaving her there, even though I knew it was the right thing to do, it was something I _had_ to do.

"I love you, Mom," I said softly, just before I closed the bedroom door.

"Love you, Philip," She replied drowsily from where she lay. I took a last good look at her, wishing I could just rush back over and lie with her until we both went to sleep, safe in each other's company. But I couldn't do that, it would be pure stupidity. Instead, I shut the door with a quiet creak and stood in the living room for a moment, hearing my heartbeat in my own ears.

I scanned the area for anything suspicious, looking under magazines and behind pillows, but once more found nothing.  Maybe it wasn't a proper relapse. Maybe it was just a weak moment. Maybe she would wake up and not even feel the need to get any more. Maybe pigs would fly, someday, too.

When I got outside, the rain had turned into heavy, ice cold sheets. I barely noticed, though, as I wandered the streets aimlessly, looking for the bus stop. I emptied my pockets, all of the things I took from her apartment into a random trash can in an alleyway, hiding them behind empty tins and rotten food. It was then that I realized, dully, that I didn't have any money to get back home. I'd been counting on getting some from my Mom, but I'd totally forgotten in light of the situation. Usually, I'd have been pretty pissed at myself for being so stupid, but I couldn't bring myself to feel much of anything. Nothing seemed to penetrate the barrier, not the rain, not the prospect of walking home in the freezing cold, not the questions I knew Helen and Gabe would throw at me when I walked through the front door. It was an empty kind of nothingness. 

I just kept seeing my Mom's face, so sunken and afraid.

When I was half way between the city and Tivoli, before I was even aware I was doing it, I sent Lukas a quick, vague text.

 

 **From** : Philip

 **To** : Lukas :)

 

_Hey, I'm coming to your place. If that's okay._

 

It only took a few minutes for him to reply, and I was grateful for it. I needed somewhere to go, I needed my mind to get out of this perpetual fog.

 

 **From** : Lukas :)

 **To:** Philip

 

_Sure thing, see you soon. :P_

 

It took ages to get to Bo's farm, but once again, I barely seemed to notice. I ambled along like I was lost in some kind of mist, ignoring the way the rain soaked through my shirt and ruined my hair, ignoring the way my hands had started to shake and my teeth had started to chatter. Time was lost on me, I didn't know if five minutes had passed or five hours. Thunder cracked harshly, somewhere in the distance, along with a bright white flash of lightning. I kept the mantra in my mind going. Everything is okay. She is okay. I am okay.

When I knocked on the front door to Lukas's place, I was still shivering violently in the breeze.

The door swung open, and a wave of heat from inside swept over me deliciously. I savored it, sighing softly to myself. I hadn't realized how painfully cold I was until I felt the welcoming warmth brush against me. 

"Hey, you took your time - " Lukas began teasingly, but he stopped suddenly when he looked at me properly. I just stared back at him, words dying in my throat. He reached out for me, pulling me inside, his mouth agape. We stood in his hallway, the TV buzzing in the background from a few rooms away. I looked down, feeling bad about dripping rain water all over his house.

"Did you walk all the away from Helen and Gabe's?" He questioned incredulously, his eyebrows raised so high it looked like they might disappear into his hairline. I frowned, confused. My thoughts were fragmented and disjointed, and his query didn't make a bit of sense to me. Nothing made sense to me. 

"What? No. No," I replied, still dazed, my voice cracking awkwardly as I spoke.

"What do you mean, no? Where the fuck have you been?" He inquired, a crease in his forehead. 

"I was at my Mom's place. I've been at my Mom's," I explained like a broken record, acutely aware that I sounded somewhat like an idiot. Lukas paused for a second, his eyes widening a little in comprehension. I stared at the painting on the wall behind him, feeling the blood pound in my head.

"Let's go to my room," He eventually mumbled quietly, glancing at the door to the living room nervously. His dad was obviously in there, and he'd only make it worse. We both knew that.

When we got settled in his room, both of us sitting on his bed with our backs facing the wall, he handed me a soft, fuzzy blanket.

"Wrap that around you," He instructed, glaring at me until I did it. I relaxed into the comfort of it, my head spinning. I closed my eyes and leaned my back against the wall, not speaking or moving even though I could feel Lukas's gaze burning a hole into the side of my head.

"You shouldn't have walked all that way, dude, it's fucking storming outside, you've probably got hypothermia or something," He quipped, but when I opened my eyes to look at him I could see the confusion, the concern in his sharp, bright eyes. I picked at a loose thread on the blanket, feeling my nose prickle as if I was about to cry. I took a deep, steadying breath. I wasn't going to let myself do that.

"It was fine," I shrugged apathetically, pulling my knees to my chest. He quirked up one eyebrow, folding his arms.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure it was a fucking glorious stroll," He drawled sarcastically, his head on one side. Even I could tell he was trying to figure things out, though. I could tell by the distracted look in his eyes, by the way he wouldn't stop staring at me, by the way he hadn't made any jokes about how I probably looked like shit from the bitter weather.

"Philip?" He muttered when I didn't reply, reaching out to touch my shoulder gently. I moved my gaze towards him, taking in his alabaster skin and pale, blonde hair. I'd never seen him look so toned down, as if all the aspects of his usual snarky facade had been muted.

"Is everything okay?" He continued, moving closer towards me. I tried to nod, but I think I was only half successful. I still kept envisioning her in my mind, laying in that bed, sweating through her pajamas. She was all on her own, because of me. I'd just left her there.

I started snapping the rubber band I kept around my wrist against my arm, letting the little twangs of pain keep me grounded.

"Yeah, I mean, my Mom," I managed to get out, feeling my breathing start to become sharper, quicker. Lukas looked at me hard, his gaze like pure steel. He reached out and gently took my hand in his, and I didn't realize how much I'd been wanting him to do that until he'd done it. I squeezed his hand gratefully, closing my eyes to gather my thoughts.

"Is she okay?" He pressed after a while, his voice low as if he was divulging a massive secret. We only talked about her sometimes, but he'd been so happy when she'd come out of rehab, clean and sober. He'd kissed me hard and said he'd never seen me look so happy.

"It was all my fault," I heard myself say, and as I did so I felt a fresh wave of hot, salty tears build up in my eyes. I was still shaking but I wasn't all that cold anymore. Guilt strangled me from the inside, admitting those words made it seem even more true.

"What? What happened?" He asked, and he was so close that I felt his hot breath on my cheek. It felt nice. It felt like the best thing that had happened to me all day.

"I just wanted to see her," I started, wiping away a tear angrily as it escaped from my eye. I tried to go on, but the sentence couldn't get past the burning lump in my throat.

"Hey, hey," Lukas sighed, cupping his hand around my face, his fingertips grazing the tear tracks lightly. 

"Sorry," I muttered thickly, feeling a harsh blush rise along the edge of my cheekbones. He shook his head, sorrow filling every crevice of his expression. It was hard to look at it, because I never wanted to see him look so down. All I wanted him to do was smile, all the time. Nothing seemed right when he wasn't smiling.

"You can cry, you know, it's okay," He reassured me, and my heart ached at how kind he was being to me. I knew, deep down to my fucking bones, that I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve him.

"She relapsed," I spat out, the words finally pushing their way past my trembling mouth. He stilled on the bed, his eyes wide and round, like glacial marbles had replaced the real thing. I nodded, sniffing harshly, willing myself to stop crying, to stop embarrassing myself.

"When you were there?" He gaped, suddenly even paler than usual in the low lighting of his familiar bedroom. He looked so pained, so surprised, as if he hadn't expected it at all. I guessed that was the perks of having a non- drug addict for a Mom, like he'd had before she'd died. You just didn't know these things, you didn't know about addiction and recovery and rehab. I silently thanked the universe that he hadn't been one of those kids that _knew._

"I just - I just found her like that. She was in bed, but she was really high. I thought that she was sleeping at first, I guess," I explained, the words hanging in the air between us in the short silence that followed. After a minute, he lunged over and pulled me into a bone crushing hug, his arms wrapped around me so tightly that it seemed almost impossible that he would ever let me go, and I didn't want him to. I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt.

"Don't you dare say that it was your fault again, Philip," He reprimanded, stroking his hands through my wet hair. I breathed out, wishing I could believe him, wishing it wasn't down to me. It was, though. I'd left her. I'd just fucking _left_ her.

"You don't get it," I mumbled into his shirt, closing my eyes in exhaustion.

"No, listen to me." He growled, pulling back so he could look at me properly, caressing my face as he spoke. "None of this was your fault, okay? You didn't make her buy the drugs. You didn't make her get addicted. You didn't stop her from getting help for it. Don't fucking sit there and tell me it was your fault. I can't accept you thinking that, you know? I can't," He sounded angry, but I knew that he was just scared. Just like me, just like my Mom.

"I left her there, though," I choked, letting the tears spill over this time.

"What else were you supposed to do?" He challenged, his hand still clinging to mine.

"I don't - I don't know," I admitted, "I got her some water, I told her to call me. But that's not enough. I used to - I used to actually _help_ her when I lived with her. I used to make sure she didn't overdose. I used to make her eat even when she didn't want to. I used to make sure she didn't stay awake for three nights in a row, just binging." I continued, pulling back the elastic on my wrist and letting it snap down so hard that it started to bleed.

I felt myself being enveloped in another hug, and when I looked up at him, Lukas's face was shining with tears.

"God, Philip," He muttered, looking torn, "You were just a kid. Just a fucking kid."

"It's my job to make sure she's okay, and I didn't do it," I repeated, the idea lodged in my brain, just as it had been since I was little. He looked at me like he had so much to say but no idea how to say it.

"It's not," He whispered, his voice cracking, "It's not your job at all."

We pulled out of the embrace, sitting back a little as we both collected out thoughts. I felt him reach for my arm, and I frowned in confusion as I let him take it.

"Stop doing that," He said tenderly, unhooking the elastic band from around my wrist. I went to argue but he shook his head sternly, arms folded. The room suddenly felt a little smaller, the tension growing as I realized that he was the first person to ever even notice the habit.

"Stop doing it," He repeated, this time with more force, "You're bleeding, look."

I glanced down momentarily, taking in the cut on my arm. It wasn't even deep enough to scar.

"It's okay," I exhaled, glancing at him only for a second before I had to turn away. It was the way he was looking at me, it was something about it. Nobody had ever looked at me like that before, not once. Nobody had bothered to. It made me feel odd, like I was emotionally naked.

"Don't." He frowned, and then leaned his forehead against mine. "It's not, it's _not_ okay. Don't even try to say that it is."

I just nodded, letting myself breathe in his scent of fresh mint and aftershave, letting myself enjoy the feeling of being so close to someone. I felt myself coming back down to reality a little, my mind cutting through the deep fog that had settled over it.

"Promise me something?" I proposed, watching as a strand of his long hair fluttered in my warm breath.

"What is it?" He replied, a spark of curiosity taking over his features.

"Promise me you'll never," I paused, wondering how to word it, "you'll never get addicted to anything like that. Promise you'll never hurt yourself like that," I continued. I watched him closely as he took it in. I knew it was kind of a big issue, because he'd been trying to get some pills ever since the murder, to help him deal, or at least that's what he'd said. That was his excuse. They _all_ had an excuse. 

"I promise," He nodded seriously, after only hesitating for a second. I let myself smile for a moment, and he did, too.

"I think you're like, one of the bravest people I've ever met," He said in awe, and his gaze was speckled with something that looked like genuine, real love. It made me feel weird, like I wasn't myself. It made me feel better than I'd felt in my whole life.

"I love you," I said quietly, because I did. I didn't need to glance back up at him to know he was grinning, and everything felt right again.

"I love you too," He beamed, and he kissed me so hard that I forgot what being afraid even felt like.

I was home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this isn't shit but i feel like it's shit
> 
> reviews and kudos mean EVERYTHING to me bc i get really easily unmotivated and they help a lot lol
> 
>  
> 
> ok hope you enjoy guys ily


End file.
